


Blood Brothers

by Rustler



Category: The Lost Boys (1987)
Genre: M/M, Yuletide, vampire!orgy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 22:38:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rustler/pseuds/Rustler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If things had gone differently that first night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Brothers

**Author's Note:**

> Written for: kristiinthedark in the Yuletide 2007 Challenge. Many thanks to kitestringer for beta and encouragement.

It's the chanting that gets to him, finally. The sound of his name reverberating in the cavernously elegant ruins of the hotel lobby, fracturing through his wine-and-weed-blurred head: _Michael, Miiichael._

Paul, and Dwayne, and Marco circle behind him, tone sliding between taunting and oddly plaintive -- _be one of us, Michael_ \-- and after the Chinese food earlier, Michael knows his perceptions are too fucked up tonight to know which they mean. Rice, or maggots? Worms, or noodles? Maybe both.

He scrubs his hands across his face, trying to focus, to concentrate through the drugs. He squeezes his eyes shut, wishes he could squeeze his ears shut too, to block out the provocative refrain. _Michael_ \-- the call, waiting for a response he doesn't know how to give.

Boots crunch through shards of broken glass. A hand lands on his shoulder. David's voice is softer than the others, but it carries more weight.

"What do you want, Michael?"

It's a bigger question than it should be. Star is what lured him here, but she's faded back now, into the shadows, hiding behind the curtain of her long, dark hair and the boy, Laddie, held protectively against her chest. She'd said, "you don't have to," when David first held out the jewel-encrusted bottle, challenging him to drink. "Don't. It's blood." But she was already retreating.

He'd come here for Star, but stayed for David.

He drank.

_What do you want?_

Michael looks up, and David gives his shoulder a squeeze. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"Let's go for a riiiide!" Marco lets out a whoop and dances drunkenly into Dwayne, who shoves him back.

Michael sways when he gets to his feet, the ground seeming to lurch beneath him. He's glad for David's steadying hand, still on his shoulder. "I feel..." he starts, but can't explain.

"Yeah," David says, voice strangely intimate in his ear. "I know."

Michael staggers outside. The fog is heavy, air sultry and damp like sweat against his skin. The roar of the ocean below the bluff makes perfect sense suddenly, a natural extension of the roaring in his head. He can feel them all, behind him, their presence like a weight against his back: David, Paul, Dwayne, and Marco. Calling. His chorus. His brothers? Waiting.

_Let go, Michael. Be one of us._

He looks up at the sky, to the translucent, mist-obscured moon, and feels something heavy falling away.

***

_Seven hundred miles from Phoenix. They've been in the car forever and everybody's ass is numb. Mom's guilty-nervous twittering hasn't let up since they left, and Michael can't even tell who she's trying to convince anymore._

"Think of this move as a temporary retreat, boys. We're just...regrouping."

"Or, you know, running away."

Sam's petulance hasn't let up since they left, either.

"Oh, Sam. Michael's willing to give it a chance -- aren't you, Michael?"

One hand shields her eyes from the late afternoon glare, but the brittle desperation of her smile can't be hidden.

Michael's glad he's not old.

"Sure, Mom."

It doesn't cost anything to say. Phoenix or Santa Carla, he's still the same. Still waiting for something -- anything -- to happen. For his life to fucking begin.

***

They're off the bluffs now, down onto the deserted beach. He doesn't remember getting on his bike, doesn't remember riding -- just a vague sensation of speed and the feeling of warm air rushing across his skin.

He's sitting beside David, catching breath he can't remember losing. They watch Paul clumsily skip pebbles in the surf, while Dwayne and Marco chase each other, laughing, churning bare, powdered feet through the sand.

"Welcome back," David says, not taking his eyes off the antics of the others, but there's a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"What...how did...?"

But Michael's tired of feeling confused, so he accepts it when David says, "Don't worry. We're just hanging out."

He watches David ease himself back until he's lying in the sand, propped up on his elbows. His white blond hair seems to glow in the moonlight. He looks like he belongs here.

"How long have you lived in Santa Carla?" Michael asks, drawing a circle in the sand with his finger.

"Forever," David says, tilting his face toward the sky.

Michael doesn't usually think of himself as shy, but he hesitates before asking, "Why me?"

David rolls back up to sitting, brushing sand from the sleeves of his shabby, vintage coat.

"I like you, Michael." He smiles then, as long shadows move across them. Michael glances up to see Paul, Dwayne, and Marco grinning down at him. "_We_ like you."

"Join us, Michael," says Paul. "It'll be cool." The others nod their agreement. Michael studies their eager faces for a moment before turning his gaze back to David.

"What do I have to do?" he asks, although from the hungry looks in all of their eyes, he thinks he already knows.

He didn't have any friends like this in Phoenix.

David leans over and gives him a push -- playful, yet not, and Michael decides to go with it, sinking down onto his back. He closes his eyes as David climbs on top of him, tugging aside the collar of his motorcycle jacket and nuzzling in, sniffing at Michael like an animal.

Michael swallows reflexively. He can feel the others watching. Maybe this is... Are all _five_ of them going to...? Then David lets out a growl, and God, fuck, it's an actual _growl_, like...

He flashes back to the ruined hotel, spitting, dropping the carton to the floor. Rice, or maggots? Michael twists and tries to shove David away, but David holds him down with a sure, easy strength that Michael's brain can't reconcile with the size of David's body. Something's not right, something's...

"Don't fight it, Michael." Dwayne's voice above him sounds too deep, raw and ragged.

There's a burst of pain; an arrow of clarity, piercing through the haze of Michael's life. His body bucks and seizes for what feels like an endless moment, then relaxes suddenly, giving way as David begins to suck at his throat.

Oh. _Oh. Yes._

"Yes." Michael arches up into the burning heat of David's mouth, into the power surging between them. It's so much more than what he thought he was going to get here tonight. So much more than he ever knew he _wanted_. He writhes and stretches beneath David, articulating limbs in a body that feels charged. New. Alive.

David growls again, releasing his hold as Michael moves, and Michael is surprised by the wild sound gusting now from his own, changed mouth. He runs his tongue over the long points of his teeth, and the need to sink them into flesh is irrepressible. He shoves into David, finding his strength, and they roll in the sand, the snarling laughs of the others echoing around them in the night.

David's eyes glow yellow when Michael pins him down, dark fluid trickling from the corners of his mouth as he grins.

"Do it, Michael."

And this time when Paul, and Dwayne, and Marco chant his name there's no confusion at all.

_Michael._

It's blind, red _want_: lunging, tearing, the sound of rending cloth, and Michael is sinking his teeth into David's throat. Sucking, drinking, rich and sweet. David moans and grinds up against him, hard and insistent, and fuck, yeah -- they can do _that_ too.

"About time," says a low voice beside him, then there are hands on his shoulders, pulling at his jacket, and a fall of silk-soft hair against his cheek as Dwayne clicks his teeth suggestively in Michael's ear. Then more hands: Marco dropping to his knees in the sand, reaching for Michael's fly, and Paul, tugging impatiently at his t-shirt.

Michael closes his eyes and lets it happen, lets his body merge with the others. He opens his mouth to sharp, strange kisses, tasting fresh blood on every tongue. He bites and is bitten, grabbing, stroking, sliding, sucking and twisting: David, Paul, Dwayne, and Marco -- learning the planes of their bodies. He growls and sighs, pushing his swollen cock against Paul's hip, then into Marco's hand, and Dwayne's mouth, and finally god-yes-tight-beautiful-_now_, into David's body. He comes in a rush, surrounded by heat, a soft whisper in his ear:

_Michael_.

He's answered the call, joined his brothers.

And now, life begins.

\--END--


End file.
